


Staring at Your Back

by Kitsu



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Slight Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-24
Updated: 2008-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsu/pseuds/Kitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting your head smashed against a brick wall can really get you thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staring at Your Back

As the weight of your body slams against me, I can feel my head impact with the brick wall behind me. The blow makes me see stars for a moment, and disoriented I can't dodge the fist aimed at my temple. As it connects, I momentarily black out and the only thing keeping me on my legs is your hand that closes around my throat, nailing my head to the wall.   
  
“Thought you could run away? You little bitch.” Contempt laces your voice as you hiss in my ear. Apparently I have made you mad. I always do, don't I? I think I know why this time, but I can't be sure. I never know what you're thinking. You're an impossible man to read, Stoneface.  
  
When I don't answer, you knock my head against the masonry again; I can nearly hear my teeth rattle in my mouth. Heh, I still can't answer though. I'm thinking.  
  
This isn't what I wanted. Yes, I understand your anger. I think. I must have broken some unwritten rule about not sleeping with the higher ups or something. You never could handle me breaking every rule out there very well. Too bad for you; if you'd taken the time to think twice about it, you might have understood the reason for me acting this way. I bloody love you; I have for years, in my own stupid way. Ever since the day you picked my up from the streets and offered me nearly legit work, really. But this is not what I want. Not ever. I get enough of violence during my work-hours. On my off-time I want something else. I want you to take me home, undress me gently and help me into bed, to tell me that you'll forgive me. That you understand. That you know that all those years selling myself to whoever would pay the most have left scars, left me with the inability to refuse anyone that offers to **love** me, offers tenderness, not just raw fucking in a dirty motel or an alleyway. Much like the one we're in now. That it is **your** heart I want, and not anyone else's. Not your money, nor theirs. But I don't dare tell you this. I'd rather let you bash my head in, than actually admitting to something like that.  
  
Especially since until today you have never looked at me with nothing but that cold glare of yours. But tonight, when you caught me in **his** embrace, and surprisingly I could see rejection, pain, hurt in your eyes. Then came the anger, and the fist to my face.  
  
I ran. I couldn't deal with being the cause of your anger, no matter what might be the reason behind it. But you followed, and in this dark alley you caught up with me, fist catching in my hair, forcibly making me stop, yanking me back and shoving me up against the wall.  
  
So here we are, _my love_. Will it end like this? With hatred? Please, just kill me. Anything, just, don't look at me with those eyes.   
  
“Why him?” You are almost screaming, hurt layered thickly in your voice. “Why Rufus? Does he pay you?”  
  
I try turning my head to the side, I don't want to see the look in your eyes. Those beautiful, cold, dark eyes. I fail, completely captivated by that intense gaze.  
  
“No. He only said he'd love me, yo. ” This is the truth, and you can believe it or not, whatever you wish.   
  
The hand gripping my throat loosens a bit, as an almost surprised expression flickers over your face.  
  
“Love? This is about 'love'?” The hand draws even further back, drops back to its place by your side, and I can breathe freely again. “Do you love him?”  
  
I could almost laugh, the dejected look in your eyes making you look like a kicked puppy. I'd always though that was Zack Fair's job. Almost on it's own, my hand rises to play with the ends of your black tresses.  
  
“No. No, I don't. And I know fully well that he's only playing with me. But I crave human contact like others crave food. And he offered to love me freely, not wanting anything in return. It's easy, yo. No strings attached, no expectations. The possibility of just walking our separate ways when things get boring. No complications.”  
  
Your eyes have shifted to where my fingers are tangling in the silky strands of your hair, watching mesmerized. For several seconds neither of us speak, only the usual noises of the alley sounding around us. Then you speak again.  
  
“Could it be me?”   
  
My knees nearly buckle under me right here and now. Are you bloody serious asking me that? Have you no idea what the implications of the question could do to me, especially if this is some cruel joke on your part? Only with difficulty do I manage to keep some semblance of control over myself.  
  
“Could it be you what? You who fucks me whenever I feel lonely? You who 'takes care of me' for a while and then throws me away when I get boring, just to find a new toy? Why should it be you, and not him?” Sarcasm is the best of defences, isn't it? But please, dear Gaia, please be serious, yo. Don't break me on purpose. I beg of you...   
  
“Me who loves you. Could it?”   
  
I mean it, my head is going to implode. First you try smashing my brains in in a fit of anger, and now you what? Confess your love for me? Or is it lust? Jealousy over seeing me in someone else's arms?   
  
Only one way to find out. I lift my head and stare back at you, and any doubts I might have had crumbles. For how many months or years have I been to busy staring at your back and pining to notice, and completely missed that warm expression that graces your face now? Is that really for me? You gotta be bloody kidding me.   
  
I'm so fucking stupid, yo.  
  
My hands fly up to hook around your neck, pulling your head down to my level. I'll give you the only answer I can.   
  
As our lips meet, I tell you all there is to say.   
  
For you, it could be love. It could be whatever you want it to be. I'll be whatever you want me to be. But I have a debt to settle, as my head still hurts.   
  
I bite your lip. Hard. And laugh as you yelp.  
  
“You deserved that. For knocking me over the head. Gaia-be-damned Wutaian bastard!” Then I pull you down into another kiss, and just hope there is a warm bed waiting for us somewhere close. All those years being an idiot have been enough, I ain't waiting another hour now that I have you in my arms, yo, headache or not.


End file.
